


After All

by ssa_archivist



Series: Movement [5]
Category: Smallville
Genre: Angst, Futurefic, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-01
Updated: 2004-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-01 05:40:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/352623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six years after leaving, Lex is invited back to the Kent farm for Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After All

**Author's Note:**

>   
> 

## After All

by Jade

<http://www.jadesfic.com>

* * *

Author: Jade  
Title: After All  
Pairing: Clark/Lex  
Summary: Six years after leaving, Lex is invited back to the Kent farm for Christmas. Disclaimer: Nothing that you recognize belongs to me. Feedback address: jade@jadesfic.com  
Website: <http://www.jadesfic.com>  
This story is part of the Slash Advent Calendar of 2003 at <http://www.kardasi.com/Advent/2003> 1) This is the fifth story in my Movement series. In order for it to make sense, you should have at least read the previous story, Lessons in Deception. They can all be found here: <http://www.jadesfic.com/Smallville/smallville_index.htm> 2) For Teri, who has waited for so long for me to write again, and for everyone else who has asked for this story along the way. Beta: Zan and Tehomet - thanks guys, you were great! 

* * *

December 2, 2008 

The envelope stands out because it's red. It's been sitting in the pile of mail on my desk since I got in earlier this morning, but until now I haven't had the time to pay it any attention. I started out reading my email as usual. Then David came in with the completed papers for the Ferguson deal, and I needed to read through and sign them. Letter mail could wait, it was rarely important anyhow. 

Now it has my full attention. Red is... unusual to say the least. The mail I typically get consists of invitations to parties, requests for money, and searing complaints from my father, who still insists on 'traditional' ways of communicating. Everything else is received electronically or goes through another department of my company. Red envelopes simply do not cross my desk. Especially ones with Christmas stickers on them, I think as I pick the strange piece of mail up and flip it over. It flashes through my mind that it could be something dangerous in a deceptive package, but at the same time I know that all my mail passes through security before it arrives on my desk and so its safety is guaranteed. 

There's no return address on it, simply my name and office address on the front. I'm sure it must be a Christmas card, but no one has bothered to send me one for longer than I can remember. And I don't really appreciate this one now. I don't need the reminder of what I still lack, even with all my money and possessions. 

I'm tempted to toss it into the pile of items that need to go out for shredding, but something stops me at the last minute. I don't know whom the card is from. I can't even imagine someone who would care about me enough to make the gesture, but something about the thought that there just might be someone who does care makes me stop. Without thinking about it, I pull open the bottom drawer of my desk and slip the red envelope inside. 

I manage to ignore it until the end of the day. David has left hours ago and it's deeply dark outside. I tend to work late. It's been years since I've had anything resembling a social life, and truthfully I don't miss it. All it ever brought me was pain and disappointment. I'm getting ready to leave, but something about that damned card keeps calling to me. 

I pull out the bottom drawer of my desk and stare down at the offending piece of mail. Before I even think about doing it, I'm reaching into the desk and picking the card up. I turn it over in my hands again. The postmark is smeared so that I can't even read from which city the card was sent. The green Christmas tree sticker and the hand writing on the front of the envelope vaguely reminds me of something or someone, but I can't think who or what it is. 

Eventually I sigh. I realize that I'm just going to have to bite the bullet and open the envelope if I want to know what it is and who sent it. I shouldn't care. It's been so long since I've allowed myself to care about anything remotely like this, but the envelope is intriguing and I just can't seem to stop thinking about it. 

I rip the envelope open more violently than is probably necessary. It tears down the front, leaving a gaping hole that I know will annoy me if I want to put the card back inside. The card is a fairly standard Christmas card. On the front is a nighttime winter scene with the words 'Season's Greetings' scrawled across the top in flowing red script. The whole card screams cheap and I'm almost sure that it has come from one of those packages of cards you can purchase at a card shop. I can't imagine whom I might know that would even shop at such a place. 

I open it and my eyes zero in on the name signed at the bottom of the card before I even read the message inside. I suddenly feel cold all over. Martha Kent. I haven't seen any of the Kents since the spring of 2002, before my father brought me back into the fold at LuthorCorp. And my last meetings with them were anything other than cordial. The pain of those last few days rips through a heart that I have thought dead for a long time now and I gasp. 

I can't even imagine why Mrs. Kent would be sending me a card now. I steel my heart against what is almost guaranteed pain and force myself to read the message. 

Lex,  
You may not be aware, but Jonathan passed away this summer. I loved my husband dearly, but there were certain things that he and I never agreed on. One of those was the way he handled your relationship with Clark. I think it's past time that we all sit down and talk about what happened. I would be honored if you would join us for Christmas this year. You know where I live and you're welcome any time. Clark will be here on the 23rd. 

Merry Christmas. 

All my love,  
Martha 

I drop the card on my desk. My hands are shaking. I feel hot and then cold. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. 

Clark, the one person I have spent the past six years trying to forget I ever met. He's the only person, other than my mother, that I've ever loved, and the only person who has ever loved me without any sort of obligation on his part. My mom loved me, I know she did, but she was my mother and it's not the same thing. My father tolerated me because I was the only heir he had, and everyone else in my life has only ever befriended me because there was something in it for them. Clark chose to love me. 

And then just as soon as our relationship had started, our fathers had conspired to drive us apart. Of course I know that Clark's father hadn't been in on my father's little deception, but Jonathan had convinced me to use the situation to end our relationship before Clark could get hurt. Clark was special, I think I always knew it, and he had secrets, ones that I wasn't privy to, and I did know that Jonathan Kent was right about my father. Dad would have dug until he found out all of Clark's secrets and then he would have used them to destroy the man I loved and his family. 

So I had let Clark go in the most painful way possible. I had made him believe that I didn't care about him, that our entire relationship had been a lie, and that as soon as I had gotten what I wanted from him I had lost interest. I had told him that my father's money was more important to me than his love. It was the biggest lie I ever told. It was the most painful thing I've ever done. I would have given almost anything to hold on to Clark's love, but the one thing I wouldn't give was the only thing I was asked to hand over. I simply couldn't allow him to be hurt. 

Some girls in a literature class I once took at college had carried on about how romantic it was to sacrifice your self for love. They were fools. Never once have I considered what I did to Clark romantic. It was necessary, and it likely kept him safe for at least a couple years, but it was never romantic. 

Clark had gone home crying to his parents, and Jonathan Kent had actually called me to say thank you. Thank you for breaking Clark's heart. Thank you for destroying my own. 

So I'd moved on and allowed my father to draw me deep into his corporate world. But my father had seriously miscalculated in his move to bring me back into his sphere of influence. I had lost my heart, and the disdain I had held for him for so long had blossomed into a full-blown hatred. I'd spent two years at Harvard finishing my master's degree in business at my father's request. Once I was back within the company, it had only taken me three more years to wrest control of LuthorCorp from my father. Dad still draws a salary from the company, but he has no control over it anymore. He hates it and we fight constantly. The power struggle is something of legend, but he molded me into a cold-hearted monster and there is little he can use against me as leverage. Perversely, I think he sees my deception as some sort of coming of age. 

After Clark left my house that night, I told myself that it didn't matter, that I could live without him, after all I had managed it for years before I met Clark. And although I've never allowed anyone to get close to me again, I still have feelings for him. I rarely allow myself to acknowledge them, but Martha's card seems to have brought them all to the surface. 

I hadn't known that Clark's father passed away. If I had, I don't know if I would have done anything, either. I know the man was only trying to protect his only child, but I could never have forgiven him for what he asked me to do to Clark. It may have been right for him and it may have been right for Clark, but that decision has never been the right one for me. 

But now Jonathan is out of the picture and Clark's mother has decided that it's time for all of us to have a little chat. Why? What could the three of us talking change now? It's been six years. Clark's surely at college by now, although I have specifically not kept track of him over the years. What would it have gained me besides heartache? Surely he's in some kind of relationship by now; another young man, perhaps, or maybe that insipid Lana girl that he mooned over for the first few months I knew him. 

And suddenly I'm intrigued. This is the reason I've avoided thinking about Clark and the other Kents for so long. I knew my curiosity and my need to know everything would get the better of me, and now it has. Before I decide what I'm to do about Mrs. Kent's invitation, I need to know more about their situation. And I'm surprised to realize that I'm actually thinking of accepting the invitation at all. I'd had no intention of ever seeing them again, but... it's Clark. 

Clark. I've needed him ever since I first met him. I've always known there was a connection there. We were meant to be together. I... loved him from the first moment I saw him and he felt the same way about me. Is it possible that he could still have feelings for me? That he could be as broken as I am even after all these years? Why would Mrs. Kent send me this invitation otherwise? She was never a cruel or heartless person. She wouldn't have invited me if it would only cause pain for both her son and me. 

I shouldn't even be considering this. I should just ignore the envelope and put it in the pile to be shredded as I had originally intended. I've never done what I should. I promised myself so many times that I would never allow my heart to be exposed the way it was with Clark, but I just know that I'm going to break that promise. Clark taught me that, that what we had was worth almost anything. 

But before I commit myself to this foolish course of action, I need to be sure that what Mrs. Kent is telling me is true. I need to know the possibility of Clark being receptive to me is there. If he's involved in a serious relationship, I'm not getting in the middle of it. It's not that I don't think I could win, Luthors can always win, it's that even now I don't want him to be hurt. He's always been the one person who can make me care about his wants and needs. With anyone else I would have just taken what I wanted and not worried about the consequences. With anyone else, I wouldn't be making this call. 

A quick scroll through the address book in my phone finds the number I want. Nathan has always been able to find me whatever information I need. A minute later the phone is ringing on his end. 

* * *

December 8, 2008 

The folder has been sitting on the edge of my desk all morning. Once again I'm feeling apprehensive about opening something that came through the mail. Nathan dropped off his findings on Clark and his family this morning. It had come in a plain, unmarked manila envelope. I had gotten as far as taking the folder out of that envelope before the worry about what I would find started to take over. 

It makes me angry to think that I'm this emotionally involved again. I thought I was over these intense feelings for Clark. I have told myself for years that I have moved on and that the only reason I'm not in a relationship is that I've chosen not to be in a relationship. Now I realize how much of a lie that truly is. The reason I'm not in a relationship is that I'm still so tied up in Clark. I've never been able to truly let him go, and now that the possibility of us having something again is here, I'm too scared to move forward in fear that I might fuck it up. The same way I've fucked up everything good in my life. 

If only I had been more careful in the first place. If I had understood the depth of my father's duplicity when I had first met Clark, I never would have taken him out in public somewhere that my father could spy on us. I would have waited. I would have made Clark understand that I cared for him but that we couldn't be together until he was at least a couple of years older. 

I don't know. I could have done so many things differently, but I didn't and that will always haunt me. I will always regret that. But now, maybe I can make up for it. Maybe I can start over. 

I hate this. I hate my father. I hate myself. 

My hand shakes slightly as I reach out to draw the folder across the desk. I ignore it as best as I can. 

The first couple pages of the folder are simply Clark's school transcripts. His marks are good. Clark was never a bad student and it doesn't surprise me to see that he graduated with honors. Other than that they are fairly unremarkable. The next page is an acceptance letter from Metropolis University into the journalism program dated three years ago. I can't believe he's been this close to me for three years now and I haven't even known it. Although, there's absolutely no normal reason for me to go out to the campus, and so there's no reason to imagine I would run in to Clark if I did. This is a big city after all. 

The next two pages are Clark's transcripts from his first two years at college. Again he's doing extremely well, and I feel an unexpected waved of pride for him. I always knew that he would do well at anything he wanted to. But I had nothing to do with that. Clark has done this all on his own and maybe that's better in some ways. At least this way he knows that it was never my name that opened doors for him, but rather his own talents. 

I never expected him to study journalism, though. Sure, he had worked on the school newspaper when I knew him in Smallville, but it always seemed to be something he did because his friend Chloe was passionate about it, rather than something he did because he had any overwhelming interest in it himself. 

The next few pages are information about the Kent's farm and their mortgage. I'm unhappy, but not surprised, to see that they've been just scraping by for the last six years. Even when I was living in Smallville, it was fairly apparent that they didn't have a lot of extra cash. After my first few attempts of gifting Clark with things I thought he might need, I had tried to stay out of it. Even after all these years I feel anger rising within me at Jonathan's refusal to take help when he so obviously needed it. The man had always been proud and stubborn. I wonder how much like him Clark has become in the last six years. 

Behind the information about the Kent farm is a copy of Jonathan's death certificate. A chill runs through my body as I suddenly realize that he's really dead. I always believed Mrs. Kent, but I guess it just didn't seem real before now. Clark's father, that strong, proud man who had kept me from Clark and done the only thing he could to protect his son, is really gone. 

I reach up to touch my cheek. My fingers come away wet. I'm crying. I haven't cried since that January day when I sent Clark away from me forever. 

Jonathan Kent's last words to me run through my mind. He was proud of me that day. He thanked me and he told me he thought I was a good man. It meant so much to me then, and I realize that it still means so much to me now. Jonathan was always a good person, if not the most accepting. I wish my father had been more like him. I wish I had been loved the way Clark was. And Clark wasn't even his father's biological child. 

My father's a bastard. 

It takes me a few minutes to compose myself enough to continue through the file. There aren't many pages left, and I wonder if this is really all that Nathan was able to find on Clark and his family. I had asked him to focus on any relationships that Clark had been in during the last six years or any he might be in now. I had expected more information than this. 

The last thing in the file is a three-page report detailing Clark's personal life since I last saw him. He had apparently started seeing Lana Lang in the fall of his sophomore year at high school, and they had stayed together for most of the year. Clark had somewhat abruptly stopped seeing her over the summer before his junior year. About four months later, he had started a relationship with Robin Meyer, who turned out to be a young man a couple of years older than Clark. I feel cold again thinking of Clark with another man. Somehow the possibility of him being with a girl just wasn't the same. Another man indicated that his feelings for me hadn't been as anomalous as they had seemed at the time. I hadn't been special; Clark had been attracted to other men as well. 

The relationship with Robin had lasted all of a couple months. Throughout the next year Clark had dated three young women for brief periods of time. None of the relationships lasted longer than a month. By Christmas of his senior year, Clark seemed to have given up on dating. He didn't see anyone else until after he had arrived at college. I check back to the beginning of the file and I'm not surprised to see that this lack of a social life resulted in even higher grades than before in the final half of Clark's senior year. 

At college, Clark had dated two men in his first year, Ben and Steven. Again neither of those relationships lasted for longer than a month. After that there was nothing. The end of Nathan's report is all the evidence he has been able to gather for the fact that Clark is currently single. I don't doubt it. Clark was always a sensitive young man and a string of disastrous relationships like that would put almost anyone off dating. It also makes me wonder why Clark wasn't able to find what he wanted. Perhaps he has been waiting for me. Perhaps I am the only person for Clark in exactly the same way that Clark is the only person for me. 

And isn't that the most disgustingly romantic thought I've had in the last six years? I shudder. I can't believe that thought just passed through my mind. I'm a Luthor. We do not think like that. Clark's affecting me already and I haven't even seen him yet. 

And will I see him at all? That's the decision I have to make now. Commissioning this information from Nathan allowed me to put this decision off for the past week, but now Mrs. Kent's invitation is still hanging over my head and I still need to figure out what I'm going to do. 

I'm scared, but Clark deserves to know the truth. I already know that's going to be the deciding factor, so why should I even deceive myself into this debate? Clark needs to know the truth, his mother and I can give it to him. It's only fair for him to know. If Mrs. Kent thinks it's safe to tell him now, then I have to believe that she knows what's best for her son, especially as I haven't seen him for years. 

The number is still in my phone, even after all these years. I guess it was some kind of hopefulness that made me reprogram it into each successive phone I acquired. A moment later the phone is ringing and I force myself not to hang it up. 

"Hello?" It's a woman on the other end of the phone and I can only imagine that it's Clark's mom. Who else would be answering the phone at the farm? 

"Mrs. Kent?" I ask just to make sure. 

"Yes. Who is this?" She sounds curious and a little guarded. I imagine that there aren't many people who call and ask after her in this way. 

I want to tell her who I am, but the words stick in my throat. She's going to want to talk about Clark and I don't know if I'm ready yet. This is foolish. I never should have called her, but I can't hang up now. The silence stretches out. It's unbearable. I never have trouble speaking on the phone. I'm a businessman, it's something I do everyday. I can't believe the weaknesses that this family has always been able to make me reveal. 

"Lex?" she asks softly after several long moments of silence. Her voice is kind, gentle and full of concern. Had she been expecting my call for some time now? 

"I..." I manage to stutter out. "Mrs. Kent," I gasp a moment later. It sounds like those two words have been ripped out of my throat and perhaps they have. This is so hard after so many years. 

I'm gripping the phone so tightly my hand starts to hurt and I have to tell myself to relax my grip. I feel completely emotionally exposed and I hate it more than I can possibly say. And yet in so many ways it's a relief to finally allow myself to feel something again. I've been dead and cold for so long. 

"Lex," she confirms to herself and I can hear the smile in her voice. 

"I got your card," I tell her, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know about your husband. I... is there anything I can do for you?" I ask, my tone business-like for the first time in the conversation. Suddenly I feel too exposed and it's safer to hide back behind the veil of the wealthy family friend offering help in a time of need. I want to kick myself. Jonathan never took anything from me, stubborn bastard that he was. 

"Lex, no," she says with a gentle laugh. "I just want you to come out for Christmas. It's time, don't you think?" 

"Maybe," I hedge. 

"It is," she tells me. "When will you be here?" 

"The twenty-fourth?" I say. I want it to sound more certain than it does. Damn my emotions over this. 

"I'll see you then. Don't worry, Lex. This will all work out in the end." She sounds so sure of that and I want to be sure as well, but I can't. Clark must hate me after all these years, after what I did to him. That's not going to be changed by a couple of hours of conversation and a nice family holiday. 

"We'll see. Goodbye, Mrs. Kent." 

"Goodbye, Lex," she says softly. "Keep yourself safe," she adds just as I hang up and I can't help but feel a warm sensation spread through me at her concern. Maybe this isn't just about making things right for Clark. Maybe even after everything she still cares about me. 

* * *

December 24, 2008 

The roads have been a disaster since I came through Prospect, halfway between Metropolis and Smallville. There's been a snowstorm bearing down on the area all morning, but it hadn't been a problem until to far side of that little village. Apparently that's as far as the county-contracted snow removal company had made it this morning. The roads after that appear to have been plowed yesterday, but they're icy and covered with a fresh layer of snow this morning. 

It gets even worse as I turn off the highway and onto the side road that leads back into the area where the Kent farm is located. I'm glad that I decided to bring the SUV that I had purchased several years ago on a whim rather than one of the cars that I normally drive. Still, I hate driving these country roads in the winter. 

Everything around me is white, cold and bleak. I shiver, even though the inside of my vehicle is more than adequately heated. I still can't believe that I'm out here. Even last night I was sure that I wasn't going to show up. I'm a strong man, I've made myself into a strong man, but there's a difference between the strength I'm normally called on to display and the emotional strength that I will need to face this holiday with Clark and his mother. Will I be strong enough to stand there and explain to Clark why I broke his heart so many years ago, why I broke my own heart in the process? 

I still believe that I did the right thing. Clark needed to be protected. He needed to be safe and he never would have been able to have that safety with me. We likely wouldn't have had any measure of happiness, either, especially not after my father got hold of whatever secret it was that Clark and his family was hiding. 

I sigh and try to push these thoughts out of my mind for a little while longer at least. 

The Kent farm is as I remember it. The house is still the same sunny yellow color and the barn still looks like it needs a new coat of paint, although I suspect that the one on there now is new since the last time I saw it. The truck sitting in the driveway appears to be exactly the same one that I remember. I guess that shouldn't be as surprising as it seems. People who can barely keep up with their mortgage payments are hardly going to be running out and purchasing a new truck. 

As I pull up next to the front step, I see that someone has built a snowman at the top of the driveway. I suspect that it must have been Clark from the size of the balls of snow stacked on top of each other. No normal person could have lifted them up on top of each other. The snowman actually has a carrot nose and stone-black eyes. An old toque is sitting on his head and is now covered in the snow that has been falling since this morning. I can't help but smile at it. It's so Clark. Perhaps he hasn't changed too much from the young man I knew. 

As my hand moves to open the door of the car, my stomach suddenly lurches and the cold washes through me once more. Why the hell am I here anyhow? I've wanted to be able to tell Clark what was going on from the first day I had betrayed him, but I couldn't. I couldn't let my father use him and his family. I couldn't make Jonathan's fears come true. For so long I had thought that Clark might come seek me out once he had graduated from high school, but 2005 had come and gone with no contact from Clark. I had realized that he must hate me as much as I had always feared, and I had placed any thought of him as far away from my mind as possible. And then his mother had contacted me. 

God, I'm still a romantic fool even after all this time and everything that's happened to me. I can't believe it. I can't stay here. I can't see Clark now, no matter that his mother has invited me and that I told her I would come. I think it's the fact that I've made it all the way out here before this all hit me that surprises me the most. Why the hell didn't this panic attack hit me back in Metropolis before I had driven three hours through a God-forsaken snowstorm? 

I'm just about to put my car in reverse and head back out of town when I see the front door of the farmhouse open. I'm scared to see who it is. I can't face Clark yet. I'm such a fucking coward. I feel my hands shaking and I wrap them tighter around the steering wheel to prevent the shameful movement. I haven't been this emotional since the last time I saw Clark. I promised myself that it would never come to something like this again. 

I force myself to look up. I can't even describe the wave of relief I feel as I see Mrs. Kent standing on the porch smiling at me. It's not Clark, not yet. And she looks so happy to see me after all these years. She gestures at me to turn off the car and come meet her up on the porch and my heart warms. She really does want me here. She really is happy to see me. I want to hate myself for the wave of emotion that's running through me at seeing this woman, but I can't. 

I put the SUV in park and turn off the ignition. I reach out for the small bag of clothing that I've brought with me, but then draw my hand away. I don't know yet if I'm really staying, so I might as well leave it here. There's no point in bringing it in if I'm just turning around and leaving. At least that way I won't look so much like I'm slinking away with my tail between my legs. 

I open the door and step down out of the car. My feet sink into the deep snow and I feel the wetness at the top of the too-short boots that I've worn. I had totally forgotten how deep the snow could get out here, but at the same time I realize that I wouldn't have had any boots available that would have been appropriate anyhow. It's been so long since I've had to be out in the middle of nowhere like this. I can only hope that it will be required more in the future, but I'm not going to allow myself to become hopeful like that. I'm not. At least not yet. 

"Lex," Mrs. Kent greets me as I trudge through the snow to greet her on the porch. 

"Mrs. Kent," I return as I reach the steps and climb up them to stand next to her. 

"None of that now, Lex," she tells me as she steps towards me. "It's Martha. You'll do well to remember that." There's a warm smile on her face as she draws me into her arms for a hug. 

I stiffen at the contact. No one has touched me in so long and I can hardly believe that Mrs. Kent has dared to do so now. Hasn't she heard the stories of what a bastard I've turned into over the last few years? Hasn't she heard how I'm just like my father now, that I'm even worse than him in some ways? People hate me and I don't care. I like it. I like not being liked. 

But she keeps hanging on and eventually I relax in her arms. What the hell is it about the people in this family that they've always been able to get past all my walls? Hell, what is it about her that even got me out here in the first place? I never would have come for anyone else; I know that. But Clark and his mom are different. Clark was the only person I ever allowed myself to love, that I know in the depth of my heart that I still love even if I don't want to admit it to myself. And Mrs. Kent always treated me like one of her own. I know she didn't disapprove of my relationship with Clark the same way that her husband did. I will always remember the way she protected us as best as she could on that fateful day when Jonathan had first learned about our relationship. 

"Martha," I eventually say. 

She nods and then steps back out of our embrace. She holds me at arms length and looks me over. "You're too thin," she says and I can't help but feel warmed at that. 

It's such a motherly thing to say. I miss my mother so much; I have since the day she died. For a while I thought this woman might be able to take over the role for me if I stayed long enough with her son. Now I get the feeling that she may have decided to do it anyhow. 

The wind picks up a bit and I shiver at the sudden cold that runs through my body. 

"Oh Lex, let's get you inside," she says suddenly and steps back towards the door to take me into the house. 

Fear grips my stomach once again. Where is Clark? She had said that he would be home yesterday, so he must be around somewhere. The damned snowman demonstrates that he's been here at least. My hands are shaking. I can't move. I hate it. I never get like this. I've been able to walk into hostile rooms and deal with all sorts of issues before, but a 22 year old man scares the crap out of me. I feel disgusted at myself. 

Martha must see all of that in my face because suddenly a compassionate look crosses her face. "Clark's not here right now. He's out with some friends from town. Come inside, get warm and have some cocoa. He'll be back in an hour or so and then we can all talk." 

"I..." I take a small step backwards, away from the house. 

"Lex, it will be okay, I promise. I wouldn't have brought you here if I didn't think it was for the best." 

I shouldn't believe her. I've been hurt by too many people who said that all they wanted to do was help me. But this is Martha Kent. If she's not a good person I don't know who the hell is. 

"Okay," I whisper and then start forward to follow her inside the house. 

The interior hasn't changed much over the years either. The furniture has been moved around a little bit, but all of the pieces seem to be the same. Something draws my eyes to the mantle place over the fire and I see that there are several new pictures there since the last time I was in the house. Several of them are of Clark. He looks so much older than the last time I saw him. 

Martha sees me looking and smiles. She reaches out and places a gentle hand on my arm. "Take off your shoes, Lex and then go look. I'll be back with the cocoa in a few minutes." 

I nod almost before I process what she has told me. She smiles kindly and then heads through the living room and towards the kitchen that I know is at the back of the house. 

I toe off my boats and then walk across the living room carpet in my stocking feet. I stop in front of the mantle and just stare at the pictures that are displayed there. Most of them are of Clark, although several of them are also of his cousins, the same as they had been when I had visited at Christmas so many years ago now. There's one of Clark and his parents, obviously taken months ago now, before his father had died. His parents look so happy in the picture, and Clark mostly does as well, but there's something sad about the expression in his eyes. It seems odd but as I look at the other pictures, I see the same ghost of sadness in his eyes in all of them. 

I reach out to touch one of the pictures, drawing my finger across his cheek. It was obviously taken on campus of Metropolis University, I recognize the Brock Building in the background and the gardens surrounding it. Clark looks maybe twenty. He has his arm slung around the shoulder of a young woman who is looking up at him with a smile on her face. He's smiling as well, but he still looks haunted. It's disturbing. What's wrong with him? 

"Lex," Martha says behind me. Her voice is quiet and I know she is trying not to startle me. 

I snatch my hand back from the picture and turn around to look at her. I don't know why I feel so guilty, especially after she had told me to come over and look at the pictures. I had her permission after all, there's no reason I should feel like I was invading Clark's privacy, but I do. 

"Here you go." She holds out a steaming cup of cocoa and I take it from her, glad that I have something to do with the hands that I have so recently snatched back from touching Clark's photo. 

"He looks sad," I say and then can't believe that the words have actually come out of my mouth. I had absolutely no intention of saying them out loud. 

"Doesn't he?" Martha asks me. "You know no one else has ever mentioned that about the pictures? I don't know if Jonathan even noticed it." 

"What?" I start, but then stop myself and shake my head. "No," I say, perhaps more to convince myself than her, "it's none of my business." 

"Lex," Martha tells me gently. "It's more your business than almost anyone else's. He never really got over what happened between the two of you. He moped around for months. I didn't know what to do. Then one day he just seemed to get over it all. He started going out with Lana. Jonathan was delighted, but I saw the pain and sadness that lingered in Clark's eyes. Nothing ever managed to take that away." 

I'm stunned. I don't know what to say. I don't know how to respond. I could say that I'm sorry, but I don't think that's what Martha really wants to hear. I know that what happened was ultimately my decision. I was the one that sent Clark away that night thinking that I had chosen my father's money over a relationship with him, but it hadn't been my idea. It hadn't been what I had ever wanted to do. It had hurt me as much as it had hurt Clark. It was still hurting me. 

"I can see the same sadness in your eyes, Lex," she says to me as if she can read my mind. "I know what Jonathan asked you to do when he went over to your office that day. I didn't agree with what he was asking you to do, but he was so sure that it was the right thing. I honestly didn't think you would go through with it, but then it was over with and I didn't know what to do." She sounds so sad and I realize that she's carrying around just as much pain and guilt about the whole situation as I ever did. 

"It wasn't just Jonathan," I tell her softly. I take a long drink from my cocoa and feel it burn my throat slightly as it runs down. 

"What do you mean?" she asks and for the first time since I arrived, she sounds angry with me. 

"No," I say quickly. "It's not that. I never wanted to send Clark away." 

She looks at me critically and then nods for me to continue. 

"It was my father. He had all of Clark's adoption papers along with his birth mother's 'death certificate' and the doctor's report that was filled out before the adoption was finalized. He... he would have sent it to the police. Honestly, he still could. I guess you should know that before you decide if you want me back in your lives." 

"He threatened to have Clark taken away from us?" Martha asks. She sounds incredulous. Why can't she believe that my father would do something like that? He's always been a bastard. 

"Yes. He didn't want me to be with Clark anymore than Jonathan did, although his reasons were different. I've always been far too emotional in his eyes and he saw my connection with Clark to be just another sign that I would never be worthy as his heir." 

"Lex..." 

"I guess I proved him wrong about that. He managed to turn me into the heartless bastard of a son he always wanted." 

"Lex," Martha tries again. This time I look over at her. "Your father was the one who arranged the adoption in the first place," she tells me softly. 

"What?" 

"I don't know what he showed you, but all those papers were filled out correctly. His lawyers made sure of it." 

"What?" I demand again. 

"Jonathan knew things about your father that he would rather didn't get out. But Jonathan would never take any money from him. I know it made your father angry and worried. Pushing the adoption through with as little effort as possible was your father's way of buying Jonathan off," she explains to me. 

"Susan and Julia Moore," I whisper. I feel like I've been punched in the gut. All the breath seems to have left my body. How can this be true? God, I can't believe that my father played me like a fool all those years ago. I believed him. I knew what he was capable of and I went ahead and believed everything that he said without question anyhow. He was right. My feelings for Clark had allowed me to be manipulated and even more so than I had originally thought. 

"You know?" 

"Yes," I tell her. "I've met my sister a couple of times." 

"I'm so sorry." 

"There was no faked death certificate?" I ask although I already know the answer to that question. 

"Lex, Clark was found abandoned after the meteor shower. No one knew who his parents were and Clark wasn't able to tell anyone anything. He was three, but he couldn't speak a word of English. Your father managed to get us guardianship of Clark and eventually, when the state couldn't find out anything further about him, we were allowed to adopt him formally." 

It all sounds so reasonable now that she's explaining it to me. How could I have ever believed that these people could have stolen Clark? How could I have believed anything my father told me? I am still certain that Clark had secrets neither he nor his parents wanted to get out, in fact Jonathan had told me this was the case himself, but I know this hadn't been one of them. 

My hands are shaking. The cocoa sloshes over the edge of my cup and splatters down onto my pants. I hiss and quickly place the cup down on the coffee table in the center of the living room. I reach up and run my hand over my head in a gesture that I thought I had abandoned years ago. I... I can't believe this. I can't. I could have been with Clark all these years. We could have found some way to be together without endangering his secret, or we simply could have agreed to just be friends until he was eighteen. 

I never should have believed my father. I never should have given in. I thought I was making such a noble sacrifice. I thought I was saving Clark and his family from so much pain and suffering. I thought he would have been taken away from his parents. They loved him so much and I couldn't bear to think about it. I... I was such a fool. 

I'm still a fool. God, I hate my father. I hate myself. I... 

"Lex," Martha says. She's standing next to me now and I don't even remember her moving to do so. "Lex," she says again. "I'm so sorry." 

"He's a bastard," I say. "I hate him." 

"Lex, it's okay," she tells me gently and reaches out to place a hand on my arm once more. 

"It's not," I snap. I want to shake her hand off me, but I can't. No one's touched me like that since Clark and now she's done it twice in the twenty minutes that I've been here. I used to hate being touched. Why the hell am I letting her do it now? 

"This is why I knew we needed to talk, Lex," she says softly. "I can see how much Clark is hurting. He's never been able to be happy since you left. God knows he's tried, but it's never been the same. And now I can see how much it's affected you as well. I never believed all the garbage they wrote about you in the papers. I knew my boy never would have loved someone who could be like that." 

I laugh harshly. "You _should_ believe that. I am that bastard." 

"No, Lex. You're hurting. You never wanted to be like that." 

There's nothing I can say to that. She's right. I never wanted to be my father. In fact I wanted to be anything except my father, especially after I was with Clark. But then it had all seemed so inescapable. I had lost Clark. I had lost the only thing in my life that had ever been good and I would never be able to get it back again, no matter what I did. 

"It will be okay," she assures me. 

I want to believe her. I want to believe that somehow all of this can be worked out, but I can't, not yet. I open my mouth to tell her that, but I never manage to get the words out because suddenly the front door bangs open, startling us both. 

"Mom? Who's here?" 

I would know that voice anywhere. I don't need to turn around or hear Martha's startled greeting of "Clark" to let me know who's arrived. For a split second I don't even want to turn around to look at him, but my compulsion to see him overrides that and I find myself turning to look at him even before I've gotten over my surprise. 

He looks so much older than the last time I saw him and even older than in the pictures I had been looking at only a few minutes before. He's got a pair of dark blue jeans and a big red coat on. He's stomping the snow off his boots when he looks up and our eyes meet. We both freeze. Clark recovers first. 

"What the hell are you doing here?" he growls. Despite myself, and the anger in his voice, I still feel a spike of desire travel through my body at his words. Oh my, I never thought he could get more sexually attractive than when I had known him last, but now his voice was even lower and richer than it had been before. 

"Clark," his mother says, but the flash of anger in his eyes seems to cut her off. 

"Answer me," he demands. 

"I..." I stutter and I feel like such an idiot. But what can I say to this man who used to be the boy that I loved with all of my heart? I still can't believe that I'm really here. 

"I invited him," Martha says. 

Clark's eyes snap from me over to his mother. He looks really angry. "Why?" 

"It's time that we all talked, Clark." 

"I have nothing to say to him," Clark insists. He's still looking intently at his mother. 

"I'm sorry," I blurt out before I can think of anything else to say. 

"Fuck you," Clark snaps at me. He takes a step into the house and towards me. I don't think I've ever been as scared as I am right now. He's a big man and he's physically intimidating. 

"Clark, your boots," his mother says. It must be an ingrained reaction because suddenly he's bending over and taking off his boots before coming any further into the house. The reaction is almost comical. 

"And you'll treat Lex politely as long as he's a guest in my house," she continues as Clark attends to his footwear. 

Clark just glares at me once he's finished with his boots. He doesn't come any further into the house and he doesn't look over at his mother again. 

"Come sit down," she instructs him. "You too," she tells me. Clark doesn't move. I collapse onto the couch closest to me. At least this way I don't have to look at Clark while he glares daggers at me. 

"Now, Clark," Martha snaps after a moment and that seems to finally get her son moving. 

Clark sits as far away from me as possible and Martha comes to sit on the couch next to me. "We have a lot to talk about." 

"I'm listening," Clark growls. His eyes are still drilling into me. 

Martha sighs. I know that she's not happy with her son's hostile behavior, but I really don't know what she had been expecting from him. Of course Clark was angry. Of course he wasn't happy about seeing me after all this time. 

"You know I loved your father, Clark," Martha begins and Clark nods at her words. "I didn't always agree with everything he did, though. The day when you came home from Metropolis with Lex, he was furious. I had rarely seen him as angry as he was that day." 

"I remember," Clark says and I find myself nodding as well. Jonathan had been furious but Clark and I had stood together. That day I had thought that nothing could come between us. I should have known how quickly everything could change. 

"I thought I had been able to calm him down, but the next day he went over to see Lex." 

"What did he say to you?" Clark demands. He's looking straight at me. 

"He was worried that being with me would hurt you. He said you were special and no one else could know. Clark, you know I knew," I tell him when I see a look of shocked horror cross his face. "How long do you think it took me to figure out what happened the day of my car accident? I'm not stupid and I've never been gullible." 

"You haven't told anyone?" 

"No, and I never would have. But your father was right, I've always been a public figure and you weren't anywhere near discreet enough about what you could do." 

"So you gave in to him? Just like that?" Clark demands. 

"No. I told your father to fuck off." 

"Lex," Martha gasps and I flinch. For just a moment I had forgotten that she was here. 

"Well, not quite like that," I assure her. I hadn't exactly been polite to Jonathan, but I hadn't been quite that rude to him either. I had said no, and questioned his real reasons for asking me to leave Clark. 

"Then why?" Clark demands. He doesn't seem to have noticed his mother's intrusion on our conversation. His eyes are focused intently on me. 

"My father came," I snap. I'm so angry after everything that Martha told me before Clark arrived. "He was the one that made sure Cooper had the information he needed to blackmail me. He wanted to prove to me how easy it was to manipulate me through you and your family. He... he threatened your parents if I didn't stop seeing you. He had evidence that your adoption hadn't been completely legal." 

"Mom?" Clark asks. His voice in quieter than it has been since he arrived. He finally seems to be calming down. If anything I'm becoming more agitated just thinking about the way my father manipulated me. 

"No, Clark," she assures him. "The papers Lionel had, they were faked." 

"And you didn't check?" Clark demands of me. 

"I... I should have. But I knew what he was capable of. Your father had just been here and I was so worried about you. I..." 

"You thought I would be better without you?" Clark demands loudly. His eyes flash at me. He really does look dangerous, even more so than Jonathan had that day I had come home with Clark. 

"Clark, you know how my life was. My father wanted me back in the fold and he would have done anything to accomplish that. He would have run right over you in the process. What do you think he would have done if he had learned how strong you are or how fast you are or anything else that you can do?" I hear Martha gasp and see her stiffen out of the corner of my eye. She never guessed how much I knew about her son. 

"Why didn't you tell me? Why... why?" 

I know exactly what he's asking me. Why did I leave him the way I did? Why did I have to be so cruel? I could have just told him what was going on, but would he really have understood the danger? Would he really have stayed away if he knew that we were both as miserable as each other? 

"Clark, I had to. You wouldn't have left me otherwise, not really." 

"I would have understood," Clark protests. "I hated you so much." 

"Clark," Martha interrupts gently and we both turn to look at her. "Your father asked Lex to do what he did." 

I never wanted Clark to know that. I never wanted him to know that Jonathan had asked me to break his son's heart and never look back. Clark didn't need to know that about his father. Jonathan had mostly been a good man, even a great man, and Clark should be able to think of his father that way. 

"No," Clark protests. 

"He wanted to be sure you wouldn't want to see Lex again. He thought it was for your own good," Martha tells him. 

"And you went along with this?" he demands of me. 

"I thought I was keeping you safe. I thought I was keeping all of you safe." 

Clark glares at me. 

"I was wrong," I admit. I hate the way he's looking at me. 

"You should have checked what your father was telling you," Clark insists with a growl in his voice. 

"It wasn't just that, Clark," I insist. "He would have found something else. There always would have been something else, but you're right. I never should have been so cruel. If I had explained it to you, would you have been willing to wait for me? Would you have been willing to wait years until you were old enough to be in a relationship with me without it causing the same type of scandal?" 

Clark's silent for a few minutes. He looks at his mother and then down at his own hands. I knew he's trying to understand everything that he's been told in the last few minutes. It's a lot to take in and I don't envy him. I always hated what I had to do that January morning, but at least I had known everything that was going on. At least I wasn't in the dark about the mechanisms that were affecting my life. 

"I wouldn't have liked it," Clark says after a few minutes. He raises his head to look at me again. "In fact I think I would have hated it beyond reason, but I would have understood. I would have stayed away. I would have waited, as long as I had known that you would be there for me at the end." 

I swallow heavily and nod. "Then I _am_ truly sorry, Clark," I tell him. "I..." I want to tell him that I don't know how to make it up to him, that I don't know where the hell to go from here. I want to tell him so many things. I want to cross the room and take him back in my arms and never let him go again. But I don't get to say or do any of those things because Clark cuts me off before I can continue. 

"No," he says softly and stands up from his chair. "I... I need to think about this. Alone. I..." Clark doesn't continue. He shakes his head and turns around. He heads to the stairs and quickly climbs up them. I assume that he's going up to the room that was his as a teenager. I understand his need to be alone and think. It still hurts to see him go. 

"It'll be okay," Martha tells me quietly once her son has left. 

I want to believe her, I truly do. I just don't know if anything will ever be okay again. I'm still broken and Clark's still broken. At least he finally knows the truth about the situation. 

* * *

December 25, 2008 

It's late, or early depending on how you want to look at things. I'm lying in the Kent's living room on their fold-out sofa pretending to sleep but really watching the clock in the living room as it makes its slow way around the face and through the night. It's almost three o'clock now and I still don't feel anywhere closer to sleep than I was at eleven when I crawled into bed. 

Clark came down for dinner with his mother and me at seven, but I could tell that he wasn't ready to speak with me or even her. He hadn't seemed as angry as he had been earlier and I had taken that as a good sign. Perhaps he was going to be able to forgive me somewhat after all. Maybe we can be friends again. I know better than to hope for anything more. I don't deserve it, not after everything I've done. 

I hear a creak on the stairs and then footsteps coming down. I roll over so that I'm facing that direction. It can't be anyone other than Clark or his mother, but I still feel nervous about having anyone come up to me from behind. I've lived too many years having to suspect everyone around me to give it up now, even when I'm in the home of someone who I know cares for me. 

I'm not surprised when I see Clark coming down the stairs. I can't imagine why his mother would be up at this time of the night, but Clark, like me, has had a rough day and sleep has likely been elusive. He stops at the bottom of the stairs and looks directly at me. 

"You're up," he says. It's not a question. He knows I'm awake. I'm not sure how he knows it, but he does. 

"Yes," I confirm and push myself up so that I'm resting on my elbow. 

"Get up," he says. 

Clark walks across the living room and towards the front door. He's wearing the same jeans and blue flannel shirt he'd had on earlier. He stops when he reaches the door and turns back to look at me. I'm now standing next to the bed in my pajamas. His eyes move up and down me, taking in my clothing. 

"Put something warmer on," he says. "We're going outside." 

I don't quite know why, but I don't question him. Clark turns back around so that he's facing away from me. He pulls on his boots and his red jacket. I quickly change into a pair of black pants and a warm sweater. He waits quietly for me at the door as I cross the room and put on my own boots and jacket. 

Once I'm dressed he leads the way outside. The wind has picked up since I arrive. I pull the hat I'm wearing down as far as possible in an effort to retain as much body heat as possible. It's freezing, and even with my jacket on I shiver. I never understood how Clark and his father could stand this type of weather without any effort at all. As we cross the yard, snow crunches under my feet and my breath hangs in the air in front of me. 

As we walk away from the house and the solitary light on the porch, it becomes increasingly dark. The moon is high in the clear night sky and the stars shine brightly above. The light they give off is strange, though, and everything around us is covered in gray, blue shadows. It's all strange and alien to me. I'm used to a nighttime that's never truly dark. 

We continue across the yard, and I realize that we're headed towards the barn. A strange feeling of hope and dread shoots through me. I have no idea why Clark is taking me out here, but I'm also not willing to break the strange spell we both seem to be under by speaking up and asking him what's going on. 

Clark leads me into the barn. As the door closes behind us, the wind is cut off and I feel slightly warmer already. We walk straight up into the hayloft that Clark spent so much time in when he was a teenager. This too looks much the same as it did the last time I was here and again I wonder what it is about the Kent farm that makes it never change. Everything here seems to be a relic from six years ago. 

"Sit," Clark says and indicates the couch. 

I sit down and then am completely surprised when Clark sits down next to me. He doesn't look at me and he doesn't move any closer than the other end of the couch. Still, it's closer to him than I've been for the last six years and I can't help but be happy about that. 

"What you did was shitty," Clark says. 

"I know," I agree. 

"But you thought you were doing the right thing. Maybe you were. Your father was a bastard." 

"Yes." And he still is, I want to add, but I keep my mouth shut. Something important is happening here and I don't want to ruin it. 

"Do you know what I've been doing since you left?" Clark asks me. 

"Tell me," I say even though I do know. But I only know the bare outline of what Clark's done and I get the feeling that what Clark wants to tell me is more important. 

"I've been existing," Clark says sadly. "I haven't felt happy, truly happy, for one day of those six years. I've tried. I wanted to be able to move on. But I couldn't. I... Lex, I never got over what we had and I don't think that I really wanted to either. I always wanted to be able to believe that you hadn't really meant what you said that day. I always wanted to believe that someday you would come back to me. But then... You became so much like your father. I just didn't know what to think anymore." 

I nod silently. I don't know what to say. Nothing I say can justify what I've been doing and how I've acted. I hated myself and I didn't care anymore how people saw me. Being a cold, heartless bastard was the only way to save myself from more pain and I took to it like a fish to water. It was what I was born to be. 

"I... I never stopped loving you," he whispers. 

I'm frozen in shock. I never thought I would hear those words from him. But now that I have, I can't seem to do anything about them. 

"Say something," Clark demands after several minutes of my silence. 

"I..." I can't get anything out of my mouth. God knows I want to. God knows I want to tell him that I feel the same way. I just can't. 

"Just tell me you feel the same way," he begs. "Why else would you have come here when my mother invited you?" 

"Clark, yes," I say. 

He glares at me and I know he needs more. He needs at least some of the words. "I feel the same," I eventually manage to get out. And it's enough. 

Clark smiles broadly. He reaches out to touch my hand and then before I know what's happening he's wrapped around me, holding me tight. I feel tears pricking at my eyes. I feel wetness on my face and a painful tightness in my throat. I press my face into his chest and cling to him as tightly as he's clinging to me. It's amazing. It's more than amazing. There aren't even words for how I feel right now and all he's doing is holding me. 

He's so warm and I can't help but try and burrow deeper into that heat. I slip my hands up under the bottom of his jacket and press them against his stomach. Clark's body heat seems to be traveling up my arms and into my body. I haven't felt so warm in years. 

"I love you," he whispers in my ear and then moves me so that he can look directly into my eyes. His gaze is piercing and I have to close my eyes against it. Seconds later his lips are on mine and I'm completely forgetting how he's looking at me. All I'm aware of is his lips pressing against mine and his tongue slipping between them. 

He's forceful and sure of himself in a way that he never was before. It strikes me that Clark's a man now. He's not the teenager he was the last time I kissed him. He knows exactly what he wants and he knows exactly how to get it. An insane stab of jealousy shoots through me at the other lovers he's had in the time since I left him. I push it down. It's not going to serve any useful purpose and at least now Clark knows what he's doing. I'm going to be the one reaping the benefits of those other experiences. 

Clark's undone my jacket and his hands are under my sweater. He finds my left nipple and pinches it. I gasp into his mouth and shift against him so that I can be in more complete contact with his body. My movement brings my thigh in contact with his cock and I feel his hardness pressing against me. It makes me aware of how hard I am as well. 

God, I need him so much. And I can tell he needs me as well. I just don't know if it's the best idea right now. It's been an emotional day for both of us. And yet, if this were anyone other than Clark, I would take him without question. But this _is_ Clark and I love him, even if the words are once again stuck inside me. I want a future with him and that means building something real between us this time, even I know that. 

With a groan I pull away from him and look up at him. "Clark," I gasp. 

"What?" he asks me. His deep voice rumbles in his chest in the most enticing way and I groan again. 

"I think we should wait," I tell him. At this moment it seems like the hardest thing I've ever had to say. 

"What? Why?" He sounds hurt and he's starting to pull away from me. 

I try to pull my scattered thoughts together and wrap my arms tightly around him. He stops moving away, but he still looks unsure. 

"It's been a long time," I tell him and he nods. "I just think it's important that we don't rush into something just because of what happened today. I just... What do you want here, Clark?" 

"I want you," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. 

"Good," I tell him with a smile. "I want you too. But for how long? I mean, are we looking at a long-term thing here, or is this just about right now?" 

"How can you even ask that?" Clark demands. 

"Okay," I say softly. "Okay. We've been through a lot today and the last few years. We need to get to know each other again. We need to know that what we feel right now isn't just because of the stress of the day." 

Clark looks down at me for a moment, but eventually nods his agreement. His arms wrap tightly around me once again and he rolls us so that he's lying on his back on the couch and I'm partly on top of him. He reaches under the couch and pulls out an old, thick blanket that I seem to remember from previous trips up here. I help him drape it over us. 

"Lex, I think you know more about love than you believe," he says eventually. 

I shrug. I'm not sure Clark really knows what _he's_ talking about. All I've ever wanted was what was best for him and that's all I've ever tried to give him. The rest of it I'm sure we can figure out on the way. After all, against all odds, we have each other again. I smile and shift myself deeper into his arms. I'm finally feeling sleepy and I start to drift off. 

"Merry Christmas," Clark whispers to me. 

He reaches up with his hands and starts stroking my head in the way that I've only ever allowed him to do. It feels wonderful. I smile and press into his touch. I know I'm safe here in his arms. Clark's the only one who has ever been able to make me feel that way. 

"Merry Christmas," I mumble. The last thing I hear just before I drop off into sleep is Clark's strange rumbling humming, and I know that I'm finally home. 

-end- 

03-11-29 


End file.
